


Pennies From Heaven

by Pearl_Posts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, F/M, Frank Sinatra - Freeform, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Trans Keith (Voltron), Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:57:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl_Posts/pseuds/Pearl_Posts
Summary: Atlanta is shutting down. The city is quiet, the hospital is falling apart, and Lance may be out of a job soon. But when he, injured war veteran Shiro, and the only patient dumb enough to schedule a visit accidentally start the zombie apocalypse, his job ends up the least of his worries. They set out on a bloody cross-country trip from Georgia to Vancouver with a camcorder and a Sinatra mixtape to keep them company.





	Pennies From Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dang has it been a while since I've written a fic
> 
> this is my first voltron fic plz be nice i'm trying my best but tell me if I get anything wrong. Enjoy!!

Lance worried his bottom lip, tapping his pencil against his clipboard. The noise was uncharacteristically loud in what would otherwise be a bustling hospital waiting room. Since the power regulations, no one gets out much anymore, much less to go to a hospital of all places. Except, of course, “Kogane!”

He stuck his head out the door, eyes falling on the only patient they’ve had all day. Lance rolls his eyes at Pidge behind their desk, but they were too busy playing Blackjack online to pay him any attention.

The boy set his magazine down carefully and stands with a grace such a compact body shouldn’t really have. Honestly, it seemed like a waste to put it in someone who didn’t even look good with it. 

Lance mustered up a smile for what could very well be one of his last patients ever. He glanced between the guy’s face and his clipboard. “It looks like there’s a typo on your record. What’s your name?”

“Keith,” Keith Kogane answered, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and daring Lance with his eyes to challenge him. 

Lance turned brusquely away and started down the hall. “What’cha here for, Mister Kogane? Routine checkup? Nothing better to do at home? Bored out of your mind like the rest of us?”

Over his shoulder, Keith scoffed. “Surgery, actually.”

“Surgery?” Lance stopped short, turning to face him. “We stopped doing that a week ago. All our surgeons were fired.”

Keith paused as if testing the information. “What do you mean? I had my surgery scheduled for today.”

“Yeah, well.” Lance tucked his pencil behind his ear. “You can’t have surgery today. Power regulations, y’know?”

“Right, of course,” Keith groaned. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and turned. “I’ll just go then.”

“Hold on.” Keith stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I can still help. I can search for hospitals that can still do surgeries.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous. “Really? You can do that?”

“Sure.” Keith’s grin was infectious. Lance jerked his head down the hall. “C’mon.”

Keith followed after Lance. He could feel eyes hot on the back of his neck, watching him carefully until they reached a door. Lance pushed it open.

The lights flickered. Lance paused halfway through the door to look up at the ceiling. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” Keith mimicked. “What’s uh oh?”

Lance rubbed at the headache blossoming behind his nose. “Nothing. It’s nothing, just power shortages.”

The Contaminate ward taking up the surgery wing has been locked off by electronic doors since they needed a Contaminate ward. But, of course, that’s just precaution. There’s no virus, and even if there was, a hospital is best equipped to stop it. He has nothing to worry about besides his job and sending money back to his family in Veradero.

Keith gestured vaguely at the room. “Fine, whatever. Just find me a hospital.”

Lance had to force himself not to scoff at his tone. He shut the door behind them and sat in front of the computer and booted it up.

Keith fiddled with his cellphone’s key chain. “So why are the lights really flickering? Power regulations don’t do that, you know.”

“Mechanic, huh?” Lance asked snidely.

“Electricians do lights. And no, I just have common sense.”

Lance rolled his eyes at the computer screen. “Yeah, okay.” He paused long enough to let Keith take a breath to say something else, and cut him off just as quickly. “Looks like the only hospital in the county that still does surgery is Georgia State General.”

“Georgia State General,” Keith murmured. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. It’s not like I have patients to see or something.” If possible, his mood soured further.

The lights flickered again, the computer shutting itself off. Lance looked at the ceiling for the second time in five minutes, frowning when they shuddered dark completely. After a tense moment, they faded back to a dim red that set his nerves on edge.

A few months ago, when the layoffs were starting to get bad, they had a training video about the new Contaminate ward and the power regulations. They couldn’t do a lot of their normal functions any more; the only thing unaffected was life support, but even that had to be cut down after a while. Families had lost loved ones because they couldn’t pay to keep everything plugged in anymore. 

The training video explained that when the backup generators came on, they stayed on for only half an hour to keep the lights running, and then shut off. The locks on Contaminate sprung open, and the staff were to do anything necessary to get out of the hospital.

When the backup generators were activated, Protocol Delta turned on. They were not allowed to go back for anyone. They were not to go near Contaminate. They were not to do anything but leave the building, because Protocol Delta was far scarier than whatever they were hiding in Contaminate.

Anything necessary. Do not go back. Protocol Delta. Even the memories of that training video sends shivers down Lance’s spine. It’s like when he was a child and his room was too dark and he could feel something in the closet. But now that closet monster is real, and in the hospital, and Protocol Delta does not care if he makes it out of the building. 

Lance turned suddenly to Keith. “We have to go.”

Keith blinked, wide-eyed. Lance almost expected him to ask why, but he only said, “Sure.”

Lance scurried to the door, cracking it and peeking out. “We have thirty minutes.”

“Until what?” Keith asked, only somewhat as concerned as he should be. 

“Protocol Delta,” Lance answered, shutting the door. A snatch of automated voice came back to him, fuzzy like hearing through earmuffs. Best to bring a weapon. “We need weapons.”

“Weapons?” Keith squeaked. “Why? What’s Protocol Delta?”

Lance chewed his lip. “I don’t know. The video didn’t say. But we have to be far away in half an hour. The head of security, Allura, knows more than I do. We have to find her. And Hunk and Pidge and Coran…” He trails off. “Shiro!”

Keith perked up. “You treat Shiro?”

“You know him?”

“He’s basically my brother,” Keith admits. “Well, I haven’t seen him much since he came back from Afghanistan.”

Lance flapped a hand at him. “Weapons now, tragic backstory later. We need to make sure everyone is out in half an hour.”

“I have a gun in my car, and I know where we can get some other stuff,” Keith offered mysteriously.

Lance leveled a blank stare at him. “That’s in your car, and we need something in this room. Unless you have teleportation powers or something hidden under the 1980s on your head, that’s kind of useless.”

“1980s on my…” Keith spluttered indignantly, raising a hand to his hair. He dropped it, annoyed. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Lance cast his gaze across the room, looking for something sharp. He decided on a pair of scissors, holding them in a fist and glancing at Keith. He had stuck keys between his fingers, flexing his hand hesitantly. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“No idea,” Lance admitted. To his credit, he only hesitated a heartbeat--a thunderously loud, terribly embarrassing heartbeat--before taking a deep breath and clicking down the door handle.

The hallway was silent. The light could have been peaceful if Lance couldn’t taste his fear coating his throat. Hospitals weren’t supposed to be this quiet. Nothing was. This wasn’t just a nighttime quiet, but something heavier and denser, like the bubble of space was holding its breath. It was enough to make the darkness piled in the corners terrifying.

Lance released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he finally found Shiro’s room, having to squint to read the number in the dim light. He knocked twice before swinging the door open and leaving it for Keith to close behind him.

“We have to leave,” Lance started without preamble. 

Shiro, the only resident who hadn’t been moved so far, sits up suddenly, flinging off his blankets so hard he knocked over his bottle of Zoloft. Lance doesn’t bother to pick it up; he won’t need it if they’re all dead anyway. 

“Why? What’s going on?” Shiro asked, maneuvering his bandaged stump of an arm uncomfortably. He glanced at Keith. “Why are you here?”

“Surgery.” Keith stepped forward, snatching the heavy prosthetic off the nightstand and shoving it in Shiro’s chest. “Doctor Sunshine and Sprinkles says something called Protocol Delta will kill us all if we don’t leave.”

“Protocol Delta?” Shiro asks incredulously. “I never thought they’d use that on a hospital.”

“Right, military man.” Lance eased the IV out of his arm. “What’s Protocol Delta?”

Shiro glanced at the closed door worriedly. “I’m not even supposed to know. I could get arrested for telling you.”

“I’m pretty sure no one cares,” Lance scoffed, tugging on Shiro’s arm to help him up.

“It’s…bad,” Shiro started. “It’s only a few steps down from Protocol Alpha, the command they used to drop bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s designed to kill a lot of people at once.”

Lance and Keith exchanged a fearful look. Lance squeaked, “What does it do?”

Shiro swallowed thickly, twisting on his prosthetic. “If it’s already in effect, there’s a low-grade bomb on its way from a camp in Antarctica.”

Lance hurried over to the door. “Okay, let’s get out of here. I think the rest of the staff is already out. Pidge the receptionist is near the front and Hunk in pediatrics had a back door--”

His rambling cut off when a thud rattled the reinforced door in its frame. Keith startled away from the door, but Lance sighed. “It’s fine, just Coran, the hospital’s director.” Lance swept past Keith to open the door. “Hey, we were just on our way…” he trailed off when he saw the state of the man in the hall. “Out.”

Coran slumped against Lance’s chest. Lance let the scissors clatter to the floor, wrapping his arms around Coran. He dragged him back into the room, buckling under his weight and turning him over to inspect…

“Is this a bite mark?” Lance shrilled, turning Coran’s shoulder to inspect the rip in his boss’s sleeve. He fluttered his fingers over it, pulling away when Coran winced. 

He recognized the signs of onset infection, but the bite mark still looked fresh. There’s no way anything unmutated could move that fast.

Coran’s voice shivered as much as his body. He grabbed the lapels of Lance’s coat, and Lance gasped at the force behind his grip as he pulled him closer. “You have to leave. Contaminate is breached. Protocol Delta.”

“I know.” Lance grasped Coran’s wrist firmly. “Come on, stand up. We have to go.”

Coran listed suddenly to the side, dishevelling Lance’s coat. His head cracked against the ground, but he managed, “They’re dead. Kill them.”

Lance blinked, confused, hand still on Coran’s wrist. His pulse was so fast he thought Coran might be...Lance cut off that thought to cry, “Oh, quiznack! He’s going into cardiac arrest.”

Shiro jumped up to grab the defibrillators off the wall. Lance hurried to open them, hands shaking and eyes watering. This was Coran who welcomed him on his first day. Who made sure he didn’t get fired. Coran couldn’t die on the hospital floor.

Lance sniffled loudly, flicking a switch to charge them up. 

Then, Coran jolted.

Lance scrambled back, dropping the live defibrillators on the linoleum. That wasn’t supposed to happen. And he definitely wasn’t supposed to be pushing himself to his knees, or shuffling towards Lance with his eyes so dead.

They’re dead.

He lurched at Lance suddenly, and Lance backed up towards the bed, whacking his head on the plastic frame. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head, expecting a blow or a snarl or an animalistic hand straight through his chest or something equally deadly.

Coran slumped on his lap, and Lance cracked an eye. The scissors were sticking out of the back of his skull like some warrior’s spear, Keith standing over him like a warrior.

“You killed him,” Lance breathed, then louder, “You killed him!”

“He was already dead,” Keith retorted calmly.

“He was moving. He was alive.” Lance stood up, taking another look at the dead body--Coran--on the floor. His stomach heaved and he pressed a hand over his mouth. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Kill them.

“Be sick later,” Keith snapped.

“How are you so calm!” Lance wailed, whirling on him. “You just killed a man!”

“Haven’t you ever seen a zombie movie?” Keith asked, staring at his hands as he arranged his keys between his knuckles. “World War Z, Walking Dead, Train to Busan, Z Nation, that sort of thing?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “That’s what’s happening right now, so get used to it. We’re in the zombie apocalypse until Protocol Delta sets in and kills them all, right?”

Lance gaped at Coran.

“Zombies,” Shiro mimicked. “Zombies. Now I wish I stayed in Afghanistan.”

“Ha ha,” Lance deadpanned. “What are we going to do?”

“Run and fight,” Keith answered carelessly.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Great plan, Sundance. What are we going to do really?”

Keith shrugged. “Stay here if you want. I know Shiro has my back. I’m not going to blow myself up because a dumbass doctor can’t get the apocalypse through his skull.”

Lance took one last look at Coran and the off-color blood pooling around his head. He took a steadying breath and, closing his eyes, yanked the scissors out of his head. He gritted his teeth and nodded to Shiro.

“I’ll take the rear,” Shiro offered. Any other day, Lance would have made a joke to lighten the mood, but today, he can’t find it in himself.

He dug his phone out of his pocket with shaky hands. Hardly fifteen minutes before they all die. He tucked his phone away carefully and flexed his fingers around the scissors. They seemed so suddenly small in his hand, and he wished desperately he had half the courage of either of the other fighters in the room.

Keith flung open the door, stepping out into the dim hall. Shiro nudged Lance’s shoulder, and he snapped back to reality. 

“We move fast,” Keith ordered.

“Fifteen minutes,” Lance announced shakily. 

“It’ll all be over soon. Protocol Delta will save us,” Shiro reminded gently. Lance shivered; if it didn’t kill them first, he added silently. 

“Where am I going?” Keith asked over his shoulder.

“Take a left,” Lance instructed, schooling his voice calmer than he felt. 

Keith took a left, scrabbling backward into Lance’s chest when he ended up nose to nose with a snarling zombie. With a fluidity Lance could almost pass off as adrenaline-fueled fear or maybe even practice, Keith swung his fist into the zombie’s cheek, the metal keys tearing its jaw halfway off its face. A dark, congealed mess of diseased blood splattered against the wall, accompanied by a wet crack and putrid stench. Lance gagged.

Keith shoved it--her, Lance finally recognized, that was Nancy the scientist working on Contaminate--against a wall, key lodging into her temple. She finally slumped against the ground, and Lance fell with her, hands fluttering over her shoulders.

“Get up,” Keith growled. “We have to run.”

“But... But…” Lance whimpered, turning his eyes away from her ruined face. “But Nancy--she had kids.”

A gentle hand tugged on his shirt to pull him up. Lance stood shakily, nodding along to whatever Shiro was saying into his ear. He straightened when Shiro said, “Twelve minutes, Lance.”

Lance swallowed thickly, his death grip on the scissors tightening. Squished between a wall of muscle at his back and a cyclone of fiery determination an arm’s reach in front of him, he suddenly felt really useless. He turned around to pass the scissors to Shiro with a muttered, “You’ll need these more than I will.”

He took them hesitantly, eyes widening. His arm whipped out to shove Lance against the wall as a zombie rushed them from the shadows. It was a burly guard, one of the few of a skeletal crew remaining to make sure something like this exact thing didn’t happen. 

Shiro jammed the scissors in his open mouth, yanking them wide to keep it in place. He glanced over his shoulder at Lance, as if expecting him to help, but honestly, what could he do? He wasn’t brave. He was just a doctor.

Keith appeared, smashing the bent keys into the zombie’s head. He cast Lance a look that bordered on disappointed as the zombie fell.

Lance pointed down the hall. “Door. Ten minutes. We…let’s go.”

They sprinted the last stretch of dim hall. Keith slammed his shoulder into the door and stumbled onto the landing. Shiro leaned his shoulders back against it, jolting in surprise when it opened an inch. Bony fingers like knobby twigs slithered through.

“We have to go,” Keith demanded.

“We can’t let any of them leave,” Shiro retorted. “Protocol Delta relies on the assumption that no one lets them escape.”

“We’ll all be blown up in…eight minutes!” Lance protested. “Find something to block the door.”

Keith crossed his arms, letting the keys fall into his palm. “We’re in an alley. There’s nothing to block the doors with.”  
Lance rolled his eyes. “We could block them with your salty attitude.”

“I’m not salty, I’m being realistic!”

“Knock it off,” Shiro interjected. “We have to stay calm and think. Start with what we know.”

Lance took a shaky breath. “We have to keep the zombies inside so they’ll blow up in seven minutes.”

Shiro nodded calmly. “Good. What do we have to work with?”

Keith turned to look down the narrow alley. “Nothing.”

“We have scissors, car keys, clothes, the railing…” Shiro trailed of, pushing back against the door with his heels when it gave another lurch. “Do we have anything long and hard, like a big stick?”

“You do.”

Shiro glared at him. “Not the time, Lance.”

“No, I’m serious.” Lance pointed at his prosthetic. “Your arm.”

“Fine. Help me get it off.”

Shiro offered his arm and Lance scrambled to undo the clasps. He twisted it off and Shiro shuffled a bit so he could prop it between the handle and the rusting cast iron bannister lining the landing. He let go hesitantly, and Shiro inched away.

“Time to go,” Keith ordered. “Time?”

“Three minutes,” Lance squeaked.

As soon as they were all down the three shallow steps and in the alley, the arm slipped. It clattered into the alley next to Shiro’s feet, and he only paused to scoop it back up.

Lance resisted to urge to squeeze his eyes shut as the door crashed open and the uneven tread of feet thundered after them, too loud in the tight alley.

They were so, so close. 

A van screeched up in front of them, fishtailing around the turn. Hunk rolled down the window and Pidge threw open the back doors, gesturing wildly for them to get in. Keith leapt into the van, Lance directly after him, and Shiro next. Hunk gunned the gas, the doors still wide open, and they sped away as a pack of zombies stumbled out into the street.

“Oh my god,” Pidge breathed, watching them try to keep up.

Lance fell onto his back, panting, shaking with adrenaline. “I think…” he paused to swallow around a scratchy lump in his throat. “I think we just started the zombie apocalypse.”

Keith sat up, digging around in his bag. To Lance’s surprise, he pulled out a camcorder like it was 1984 or something. He clicked it on and held it up steadily, watching the pack of zombies through the lens, mouth hanging open.

“What are you doing?” Lance accused.

“Filming it,” Keith answered quietly.

Lance let it drop, watching Atlanta speed past. The city might be dead in twenty-four hours, so he’ll let Keith have his moment of peace.


End file.
